Going Solo
by TheRimmerConnection
Summary: Illya is finding it very difficult to shake off Napoleon. He won't even let him go on missions alone. Something is Amiss. Bizarrely for me, not slash!


_Disclaimer: Not mine. Nope, not even a little bit._

* * *

'Where's Illya?'

It was the first thing Napoleon asked when he awoke. He always wanted to know where Illya was, but he didn't usually voice his query, usually waited until he could look for himself, or until Illya showed up, as he nearly always did. His fingers tapped frenetically on the covers as he regained control over them, and he stared at the nurse fussing over him, wide eyed and intense. She nodded,

'He was in here just before you woke up. How are you feeling Napoleon?'

'Will he be back soon?' he asked, ignoring her question.

'Yes, he'll be back soon. He's gone to get a drink, then he'll be back. Now, how are you feeling?'

'Fine, fine...' Napoleon looked around, clearly searching for evidence of Illya returning.

'Your heart-rate is up a little, but we'd like you to try and get up, see if it calms down any once you're up and about.'

'Great, yes. Now?'

'No, just a minute Mr Solo,' the nurse chided, placing a gentle palm on his chest to hold him back, 'The doctor will be back in a minute and he'll want to check you over and get you unhooked first.'

Five minutes passed before Illya poked his head around the door, and saw Napoleon sitting up in bed. Tense and nervy as Illya entered, the edginess seemed to fall away as Illya approached the bed and held out his hand. When Napoleon shook it, his grip was firm and did not tremble as his demeanour a few moments ago had suggested it would.

'How are you feeling?' Illya asked.

'Fine. Right as rain. They'll let me out once the doctor's given me the once-over.'

'Good.' Illya looked slowly around, glanced at his watch, then turned back to the bed. 'Do you want me to leave you to it? Or shall I keep you company? I've finished my reports, so you're condemning me to filling in those appalling new forms Admin have come up with if you make me go...' His eyes twinkled at Napoleon, who grinned in response.

'In that case, your company is urgently required here. Never let it be said that I was the cause of your having to do extra paperwork.' Illya sat on the chair next to the bed and raised his eyebrows disbelievingly,

'Napoleon, if you can look me in the eyes and say that without laughing, you are the most unashamedly deceitful man I have ever met.' He glanced at his partner and his stern expression melted into an amused smirk. 'No, I thought not. And before you ask, yes, I have filed your half of the report. I thought you wouldn't feel up to it for a while. You just need to go down and sign it when you have a moment.'

'I owe you.'

'Hah!' Illya started to count up on his fingers the number of favours for which Napoleon owed him, but he was stopped by a ball of medical-issue tissues hitting him in the side of the head.

'I'll do it on the way out of here.'

The doctor entered the room and ushered Illya over to one side, so that he could speak to Napoleon. After a few minutes of questioning, prodding and tutting, he shrugged,

'Well, there's nothing obviously wrong with you. As I say, heart-rate is a little high, but nothing to be overly concerned about. If you feel unusual at any point, come straight back here, but then, I think you know the drill, Mr Solo.'

Napoleon nodded and got up, steadying himself on the bed-frame as he found his feet. Illya also got up from his perch and grabbed Napoleon's few attendant belongings.

'Ready?'

'Yep!' said Napoleon happily.

'See you soon, Mr Solo, Mr Kuryakin,' the doctor called after them, confident that they'd be back in his care sooner rather than later – it was practically a given for Section Two agents.

'I rather wish he wasn't right,' Illya muttered as they hurried down the hallway. Neither of them had ever seen that having spent time in a hospital bed was reason enough to leave at a dignified snail's pace to give their bodies a chance. Unseemly haste was the order of the day until the final pair of double doors had slammed behind them and they were back in the UNCLE New York HQ proper.

As they walked more leisurely down the familiar grey corridors, Napoleon coughed and spoke in as casual a voice as he could,

'Doc says I should have someone to keep an eye on me tonight, so can I come and sleep on your sofa?'

Illya tipped his head to one side, 'What, and have you moaning about the crick in your neck all day tomorrow? No. I'll come over to yours and stay in the guest room. Then we might both get a decent night's sleep.'

Napoleon shrugged,

'All right, if you prefer. Do you want to stop and get some food on the way?'

Illya nodded, and they left by Del Florias, having dropped by to sign off Napoleon's report. They picked up an UNCLE taxi on the corner, since Illya had watched their written-off car being towed away an hour ago.

'Shame about that car. It had very comfortable seats,' sighed Illya as they drove away.

'At least it got us home. I wouldn't have fancied your chances trying to carry me all the way from that lakeside.'

'Napoleon, you are assuming that I _would_ have carried you all that way. That is a great assumption, my friend.' Illya threw a mischievous glance Napoleon's way, but Napoleon just looked straight back.

'Well, given that I was carrying the very item we set out to get in my stomach, unless you were going to slice me open as an alternative, I think Mr Waverly would have been a little annoyed if you'd turned up without me. Besides, I'm the one who attended that jolly little THRUSH party. Since you came to rescue me, it would have been an interesting move to immediately abandon me again.' Illya nodded, defeated.

'If you hadn't swallowed the thing...'

'They were being very insistent about me handing it over. They knew a lot about you as well.' He frowned as he said this, gazing out of the window. 'When they decided I wasn't just going to tell them where I'd put the capsule, they tried to get it out of me by telling me they had you prisoner. I knew they didn't – you were still in Ireland when I got caught. You'd never have got to me so fast. But they knew everything else about you. They were trying to convince me they had you, telling me all sorts of things about you they shouldn't have known. They got pretty annoyed when I wouldn't rise to it. They said I should be more careful about my partner. I told them _they_ could try mollycoddling you and see how many broken fingers it got _them_.'

Illya tapped on the glass partition and waved the driver to pull over.

'I'm going to go and grab us something from Ben's. What do you want?'

'Uh...' Napoleon had an expression on his face that wasn't quite 'undecided'. 'I'll come with you.'

'Napoleon, you have just been released from Medical. Besides, it's quicker if we're not both in there arguing over what to get. Stay put. Tell me what you want.'

'No, really...' Napoleon was already shuffling towards the door. Illya fixed him with a look of fury,

'Napoleon, sit! I'm not having you trailing around in there feeling sorry for yourself. What are you having?' Napoleon shrank slightly. He would never have rated Illya's anger as something he feared, but actually experiencing it was less than pleasant.

'Surprise me,' he grumbled, sinking back into his seat and wondering why it was that Illya was allowed to boss him when he'd have ended up with a bloody nose if he'd tried the same thing to Illya.

Illya opened the door and stepped out. As he shut it again, he glanced through the window. Napoleon was gazing straight at him, a curious look full of wariness and absolutely fixed. He shook his head – probably just annoyed at him for having shouted at him – and headed into the deli.

When he returned, barely ten minutes later, it was to open the cab door on a Napoleon who was curled up in the corner and looking like death warmed over. Illya slung the bags down in the footwell, slammed the door and leaned across to rest a hand on his partner's arm.

'Napoleon, are you feeling all right? Do you need to go back to Medical?' He was halfway to sliding back the glass to tell the driver to turn around, when his wrist was grasped in Napoleon's hand and he turned back to see Napoleon looking ten times better and shaking his head.

'No. Sorry, I just had a funny turn there for a moment. I think it was just the last of the emetic they gave me. Didn't work. I'm on stool duty for the next day or two. Kind of them – after the emetic they said I'd probably had enough for one day. Since I passed out shortly afterwards, it became rather academic.' Illya grimaced in sympathy, then brightened,

'Good thing we _are_ going back to your place then. You're not borrowing one of _my_ kitchen bowls for _that_. Although I am surprised they let you out if you're still carrying it.'

Napoleon shrugged. 'I gave them most of the information. They won't pass me for field duty until I'm clear. I guess they think no-one's going to imagine I'd still have it on me. That doctor's not bad. He knows I'd rather be at home. Just being helpful I guess.'

'Don't fool yourself my friend,' Illya said cheerfully, watching the world pass his side window. 'He'd just do anything to get you out of there before you get the chance to seduce every nurse he's got and make them all useless for the next three weeks as they discover you did the same script for all of them.'

Napoleon grunted and turned to look out of his own window, though he seemed jumpy and kept checking the interior of the car.

They reached Napoleon's apartment building and shared the deli bags between them for the walk to his door. Inside, Illya dumped his half on the side and went to put his overnight bag, borrowed from his locker at headquarters, in the guest room.

Throwing it onto the bed, he turned and jumped at Napoleon looming large in the doorway.

'Sorry,' Napoleon said sheepishly, 'I just wanted to check it was all made up – I couldn't remember if I'd done it yet. I'll, ah, go and get the food out.' He turned and walked away, casting a final look over his shoulder. Illya watched him going, stiff-backed and tense. He frowned, made a quick trip to the bathroom, then joined Napoleon for dinner.

* * *

'I'm going home tonight. You'll be fine. You haven't had any problems the last three days, have you?' Illya queried over lunch in the UNCLE canteen, forkful of beans halfway to his mouth.

'No. No problems,' Napoleon replied distractedly. 'I thought maybe just one more night? I was going to cook – to thank you for staying, I mean.' Illya chewed thoughtfully on his beans for a moment, then shook his head.

'No, sorry Napoleon. Thanks for the offer, but I need to go home. I've got things to do. I need some time on my own.' He watched Napoleon for a while, then, 'Is there something bothering you, Napoleon? You're not quite yourself.'

'I'm fine. No. Go home, I'm sorry. Selfish of me.' He went back to his own meal, prodding it around the plate with his fork, before seeming to come to some decision and shovelling it into his mouth with determined rapidity. Illya watched him intently, but Napoleon was right, he _was_ fine, the doctors said so, and ninety-nine percent of the time, Illya felt they were right. There was just something... Something edging in on his consciousness. He ignored it. If Napoleon needed help, the first person he would call would be Illya. Probably. He pushed his chair back.

'I'm going down to the labs. I probably won't be up again today. See you tomorrow. Is that meeting at eight-thirty or nine?'

'Nine,' replied Napoleon, not looking up from his meal. 'Yes. See you there.' Illya gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze as he passed and Napoleon's hand came up to rub at the spot afterwards – some days, Illya really didn't remember the strength in those hands of his.

* * *

Napoleon sat at his desk, rubbing his eyes. He looked tired, exhausted in fact, but there was also a furtive, almost frantic energy about him, which seemed to subside a little as Illya came through the door of the office.

'You look even worse today,' Illya opened bluntly.

'And good morning to you,' Napoleon returned with a yawn and a hefty topping of sarcasm.

'You said you were going to take something to help you sleep.'

'I did. I've just got a lot to catch up on.'

Illya sat in his chair directly opposite Napoleon and leaned on his elbows, staring at the man across from him. 'Tell me what's going on, Napoleon.'

'Nothing's going on. I just had a few sleepless nights and it's caught up with me.'

'And you're nervy a lot of the time.'

'I told you, I'm tired,' snapped Napoleon, the edge of anger starting to colour his voice.

'Yes, and you won't go to the shrinks, and you won't tell me what's up. What do you expect me to do? Ignore the fact that my partner is crumbling in front of my eyes? The rule book says I ought to report to Waverly that you're not operating at full capability. I haven't done that, but I will, if you don't talk.'

'Give me a couple more days,' Napoleon sighed.

'Napoleon, I have already given you three weeks. This is past a joke.'

'I'm okay. Look at me – I'm just yawning.' Illya looked at him. It was true, now that he looked again, Napoleon didn't seem the edgy bag of nerves he had when Illya had first come in. Or maybe he was imagining things. Maybe it was just seeing him so tired that had made him imagine worse problems.

'Okay. But you need more sleep. Do you want me to come over and stay? Would that help? Is it nightmares, or something you're worrying about, or...?'

'Would you?' Napoleon asked, brightening, suddenly seeming more himself again. Then he looked a little embarrassed. 'I mean, that might help a little. I guess having someone else in the house might be a help. It's...' He paused, Illya would have sworn that his body language said he was fabricating something, but most likely it was just the embarrassment of having to share his current psychological issues with his colleague. 'It's, ah, nightmares. That's all. Maybe if someone was there I'd feel safer when I woke up. I don't know. It was probably that last affair, just took a while to hit me. If I can work around it a couple of nights... I've been getting in a bit of a state, to be honest.'

'I thought so. Okay, Napoleon. I'll come over. Anything's better that sitting here watching you yawn your way through every day.'

They settled down to their work, and after a while, a dopey-looking Napoleon pushed a file across the table and nodded blearily at it,

'That's our next one – just a drop off, but I'd be happier with both of us on it.'

Illya took the file, put it down in front of him, unopened, and frowned. He sat back in his chair, hands clasped on his chest, and eyed Napoleon suspiciously.

'Napoleon, have I done something to suggest that I am no longer capable of doing my job?'

'Of course not.' Napoleon, roused from his stupor, looked faintly surprised.

'Then perhaps you would like to tell me why you haven't let me out on my own for the last ten assignments?'

'Haven't I?'

Illya scowled. 'You know you haven't.'

'Well, I haven't either. Been out on my own, I mean.'

'I realise that. I want to know why.'

'Well, I admit, I believe it is safer for us to go out in pairs, rather than singly, and we haven't exactly been too busy to allow for it.' Illya nodded slowly, unconvinced.

' I appreciate that teamwork gets results, Napoleon, and I do not object in many cases, but piddling little courier jobs? Simple drop and destroy work?'

'Okay, okay. Go on your own then. You're the one who's awake. You've got the details. It's tomorrow, so you'd better read it now.' Napoleon slammed his next file down on his desk and stared at it, ignoring Illya, who chose to drop the subject rather than get Napoleon even more worked up when he was tired.

That night they returned to Napoleon's apartment and within ten minutes of their finishing dinner, Napoleon was asleep on the sofa. Illya hunted round for some books to entertain himself, and sat with them on the floor until the clock on the mantle struck midnight and Napoleon stirred, coming awake in an instant, looking around in a seeming panic until he spotted Illya down at his feet and relaxed, closing his eyes and stretching.

'Better?' asked Illya, watching him closely.

'Much, thank-you. I'm sorry, I haven't exactly been good company.' Illya waved away his apology,

'I am here to watch you sleep, not make conversation. Though now I know my being here works, I'm going to bed. I need to be up for that drop-off tomorrow. But call me if you wake and need me. I won't mind.'

Napoleon nodded. 'Thank-you. That is very... helpful.' He got up, stood swaying for a moment as the blood rushed away from his head, and then headed to his own bedroom without looking back at Illya.

Illya stayed put for a moment, watching Napoleon leave. Then he picked up his books, turned out the lights, and went to the guest room. There he stripped to his t-shirt and shorts, got into bed, put his head on the pillow and went to sleep without another thought.

At two in the morning he was suddenly awake again. His hand was on his gun before he turned on the light, and only gut instinct prevented him from firing it straight through Napoleon.

'Hell Napoleon! Do you _want_ me to shoot you?' he yelled, slipping the gun back under his pillow and staring frustratedly at the white-clad figure kneeling next to the foot of his bed, pillow and blanket in hand.

'Sorry. I didn't want to wake you,' Napoleon said quietly.

'Well you didn't do a very good job. What are you doing?'

'I couldn't sleep. I can sleep if you're in the room – if I can see you when I wake up. Sorry. That sounds creepy. I just need to see...'

'Well get in then. We've shared a bed enough times, we can do it again if it's going to help. I'm not lying here all night listening to you whiffle away on the floor.' Illya held back the covers and Napoleon got in beside him, a little shamefaced. Illya's expression softened. 'It doesn't matter Napoleon. I get nightmares too sometimes. You know that. That's what your partner's for. If we can't sort this out in a week though, you're going to the UNCLE shrink, if I have to drag you there.'

Napoleon grunted something non-committal and rolled over. Illya lay quietly for a while, mulling over the clues he had to Napoleon's problem. Nightmares were an occupational hazard, given the situations they found themselves in all too regularly, and sometimes it really did help to have a recognisable face visible when you woke, but it wasn't just the night-time. It was those moments during the day when Illya caught Napoleon off guard; coming back into a room when he'd been off somewhere; walking in first thing in the morning a little early, or even dead on-time. At those times he was seeing a Napoleon he wasn't used to, but unless he could work out what the problem was, they were going nowhere fast. It was all very well to say he'd drag him in to have his mind raked over, but on that score, they were alike, and it would be like dragging the proverbial stubborn mule into that office – a trail of four furrows marking every inch of resistance from those dug-in hooves.

Eventually, he too went back to sleep, only to be woken a few hours later by the chime of his communicator. He fumbled for it, watched over by an equally wide-awake Napoleon – nothing like a communicator to wake you up.

'Kuryakin here.'

'Good Morning Mr Kuryakin. We have been unable to contact Mr Solo, do you know where he is?'

'In his bed, sir, but I think his communicator is in his jacket in another room. It was late last night and I think we were a little too tired to think properly.'

'I do wish you young men would resist the urge to party on a work night, Mr Kuryakin,' Mr Waverly grumbled. Illya did not correct him. It would be hard to explain his presence any other way without giving away Napoleon's problem, and he wasn't about to do that without permission.

'Do you need to speak to Mr Solo, sir? I could go and fetch him.'

'No, no, you will do. I want the pair of you on the road in half an hour. I've arranged for another agent to do the drop off. I am sending over the details by courier this instant. We have found Giorgio holed up in a barn about eighty miles away and I don't one anyone barging in and ruining it all, so I want you two on it. We need him alive, Mr Kuryakin, and he may be anxious to prevent you achieving that. The courier will bring the car. I sincerely hope that at least one of you is in a condition to drive, otherwise you will be incurring my extreme displeasure. You should both know the rules better than that.' Illya winced, he couldn't let that go unanswered.

'We didn't get drunk sir. We were just...talking, work mostly, and didn't notice the time, so I stayed over. It was the lateness of the hour more than anything else.'

'Hmm.' Mr Waverly sounded unconvinced. 'At any rate, tell Mr Solo I expect to be able to get hold of him directly in future.'

'Yes sir,' Illya replied, and recapped the pen as Waverly seemed to have signed off. 'Well, you heard,' he said to Napoleon, who was already swinging his legs out of bed and standing to go and dress.

* * *

Twenty minutes later they had acquired their instructions and the car keys from the UNCLE courier and were driving through the quiet, early morning streets, Illya at the wheel. An hour and a half and a couple of wrong-turns later, they pulled up at a safe distance from a farm stuck at the end of miles of unkempt little roads through forests of thickly-growing trees.

'Right, well we can't let him run out of that barn, we'd never find him in all these trees.' Napoleon gave his assessment in a low voice as they got out of the car and started to creep towards the barn, keeping to the edge of the trees to afford themselves a little cover.

'No. We can't just walk in either. Waverly seems to think he'd kill himself rather than be taken.'

'We'll have to surprise him, he shouldn't be expecting us. He can't be sitting there with a gun at the ready just on the off-chance.

'No, but he could have one close by. We'll have to get on either side of him. We need to split up.'

Napoleon suddenly looked very shifty – the expression Illya had been catching on him for weeks now. He grabbed Illya's sleeve to stop him carrying on towards the barn. 'I can't. Please Illya.'

Illya stopped and turned to face him. 'What's going on Napoleon?' His gaze was piercing and Napoleon's face fell as he realised he was going to be questioned about this.

'I can't, it's too complicated. I'll follow you. Please?'

Illya relented. The mission was too important and time was of the essence. An argument now would only slow them down, and if the task had to be achieved by them both going in together, well, that was just what they'd have to do. 'You'd better have a good reason for this, Napoleon Solo,' he muttered, pulling away from Napoleon, and starting forward again.

As it happened, the capture of Giorgio was easier than Mr Waverly had suggested. The man was dozing when they burst through the door, and barely had time to open his eyes before they were on top of him, wrestling his hands into rope bonds and dragging him to his feet, away from the shotgun concealed in the hay. It wasn't until they got him outside, thinking him resigned to his fate, that he made a break for it, kicking Napoleon in the knees, sending him flying sideways, elbowing Illya, doubling him over, and then taking off towards the trees. They were both on their feet again in seconds, throwing themselves at him.

Even with his lack of sleep, Napoleon was in better condition than this man who had been living rough with little food for months, and together they caught him, launching themselves in flying tackles at his legs. Illya delivered a knockout chop to his neck, leaving him unconscious on the ground, and the two agents sprawling in the dirt, spitting straw and soil.

They got painfully to their feet and Illya dragged Giorgio's unconscious body up by one arm.

'Put him in the car, Napoleon. I'm going to go back and check we haven't left anything important behind.'

Napoleon blanched and made no move to pick up the man. 'Please, Illya, no. Leave him here. I'll come with you, there might be someone else in there, I'd rather watch your back. He's not going anywhere for a while.'

Illya stared at him in disbelief, dropping the arm. 'Pull yourself together Napoleon, What's the matter with you?' he said roughly, wiping a blob of muddy spittle from his lower lip with the back of his hand. 'Put him in the car, I won't be long.'

'Don't leave me here,' said Napoleon hoarsely. He had schooled his face into calm determination, but his eyes flicked back and forth, wide with terror.

'Tell me,' Illya said forcefully. Napoleon just stared at him. Illya looked at the body on the ground, that was the important thing. Everything else was window dressing.

'Right. Grab his other arm,' he said, picking up the one he had just dropped.

They hauled the man to the car and tied him down thoroughly in the back seat, hooded and bound.

'Get in,' Illya snapped, swinging himself into the driver's seat once more.

'I thought you wanted to check the barn,' Napoleon asked.

'Right now I don't want to do anything except get back to headquarters with this and get us signed off for a day or two. Now shut up and work out how we get out of this damn labyrinth we're sitting in the middle of.'

* * *

Back at headquarters, duly relieved of their prisoner, Illya strode down the corridor, Napoleon rushing to keep up. He opened the door to their office and ushered Napoleon inside.

'Sit,' he said. Napoleon sat and watched as Illya paced the room a couple of times, deep in thought, then turned resolutely.

He looked at Napoleon with suspicion in his eyes, licked his lips thoughtfully and stood facing him, resting his hands on the table's edge.

'I'm going to take the car and head out of town for a while. After the last day or two, I could do with some time alone.' He watched Napoleon closely, not missing the panic that flitted across Napoleon's face. 'Or would you rather I stayed here?' Relief replaced the fear, but then it in turn was replaced by a third emotion – was it determination, or resignation?

'No.' Napoleon's voice was unsteady and for once he failed to meet Illya's eyes. 'No. If you need a break, take it, my friend. Take it.'

'Thank-you.' Illya walked towards the door, never taking his eyes off Napoleon. As he reached the door, Napoleon looked up, wild fear barely restrained as he grasped the table's edge. Illya stopped with one hand on the door. 'Napoleon, what happens if I leave. To you, I mean.'

'I don't know what you mean,' Napoleon replied unconvincingly.

'Don't be an idiot Napoleon, it's taken me long enough to work it out, don't play games. When I leave, you get panicked, don't you? Isn't that what all of this comes down to? You can't sleep if I'm not there. You look like a hunted animal when I've been out of the room for any length of time. You've been arranging for us to work together so that you're with me when you need your wits about you. Where has this come from? What is the problem?'

'I don't know.' Napoleon stared at the table, unwilling to meet Illya's eyes. 'You're right. I just couldn't tell you... I couldn't. It just sounds too... to say that I panic when you're not around. Well, it's not very...'

'You were all right before THRUSH had you last. That must be it. Did they hypnotise you, or drug you, or... can you remember anything?'

Napoleon rubbed his forehead, 'I don't remember. They were joking about how little I seemed to care for my partner's safety – remember I told you they said they had you prisoner and–'

'I remember,' Illya cut in softly.

'Well, then they started saying jokingly how they'd make sure I'd really care about my partner's safety. I thought they were just going to make sure they did capture you and then use you against me, but... they must have done something to me, something to make me need you around all the time. I don't know. I don't remember anything, but I was knocked out so often they could have done anything.

'But I don't see how it helps them – perhaps it really is just their idea of a joke – good sport to watch me trying to survive without you – or maybe it's to try to make you suspicious of my behaviour. Or perhaps they were hoping to keep hold of me longer than they did, so that I wouldn't be able to have you around and I'd go crazy because of it. That's what it feels like – like I'm going crazy. Every time you leave the room.'

'Or maybe they just hoped the inconvenience of it all would wreck our partnership – we know THRUSH would love to split us up. Well, how better to do it than to force your company on me all the time until it drives _me_ to distraction?'

'I don't care what it is. I just want it to stop. Much as I like your company, this is impossible.'

'The answer is obvious, Napoleon, we go to Medical and get them to work out what's wrong and fix it. I cannot for the life of me think why you didn't do that as soon as you realised what was wrong. I thought you were just getting the usual nightmares, otherwise I'd have sent you down there weeks ago.' Napoleon looked sheepish.

'I hoped it would just go away. I hate going to have my mind messed with on purpose, you know that. And I didn't want to let on to Mr Waverly.'

'That's not a good enough answer. Try again.'

'I was scared they wouldn't be able to fix it. Correction. I _am_ scared they won't be able to fix it. I'm not safe like this, so they'll retire me, and then I'll be stuck at a desk, away from you, and I really will go crazy if I'm not sorted out.'

'So in the meantime you were just going to carry on until your attachment to me or your tiredness got one or both of us killed? Thanks partner.'

'I haven't been thinking straight. It's no use yelling at me. It's all very well when you're here, but when you're here, it doesn't feel like I've got a problem, so I've kinda been forgetting about it. When you're _not_ here, I can't think enough to work that out. I can't even think about what's wrong. All I can do is wait for you to come back. My head just screams. It's full. I didn't have time to get past knowing I was scared to go to Medical.'

Illya stepped round the desk and put a hand on Napoleon's arm.

'Okay. I'm going to do the thinking for you and get you sorted out.' The buzzer went and Waverly's secretary invited them to see him without delay. 'As soon as we've seen Waverly. Come on.'

They walked to Mr Waverly's office, and spent ten minutes going over the details of the capture with him. All points duly covered, he dismissed them, then changed his mind, holding up a hand to stop them.

'Mr Kuryakin, would you stay for a moment please. I should like to speak to you alone.'

Illya glanced at Napoleon, saw the edge of panic in his eyes and took a breath. 'Sir, I wonder, I've had a slight digestive upset since we got back. Would it be possible for me to go and attend to that first. It is rather urgent now...'

Waverly sighed with mild irritation. 'Very well, if you must. But back here afterwards at the double, if you please.'

'Thank-you sir.' Illya nodded gratefully and led Napoleon from the room.

'With me,' he muttered, and Napoleon followed him back to their own office.

'Sit!' ordered Illya. Napoleon sat. Illya opened his desk drawer and rootled around at the back of it for a minute, brought something out and shut the drawer. Then he took his gun from its holster, swapped the clip for the new one he had found, and shot Napoleon in the arm.

Napoleon slumped forward almost immediately, and Illya raised his eyebrows. Taking a deep breath, he re-exchanged the clip in his gun and returned the second to the drawer and the gun to its holster.

'You'd better be right about these, Carter,' he said to himself. Then he left the room, locking the door behind him.

When he returned, he looked at his watch and slapped Napoleon a couple of times on the cheeks. Napoleon came to, blinked a couple of times and swallowed,

'What was that?' he asked.

'A new knockout dart from Research. Fifteen minutes of instant sleep and no side-effects. Or so I'm told. I thought it was better than trying to explain things to Mr Waverly.'

'Thank-you.'

'He wants me to go down and talk to this Giorgio. He had a few ideas for things I could say, which are, unfortunately, need-to-know only. He thinks my particular brand of questioning might just hit the spot.'

'You mean he wants him terrified?' said Napoleon grimly.

'Perhaps. Look, I'm sorry. I said I'd go with you. You can go on your own, or you'll have to wait till I'm done. That could be a while. I probably won't be able to come with you until tomorrow now. Look, you're suffering Napoleon, and I hate to see it when it's not necessary...'

'I don't want your sympathy,' Napoleon hissed.

'You're not going to _get_ my sympathy,' Illya replied cooly, but his hand rested reassuringly on Napoleon's arm, nonetheless. 'Not while you're trailing round after me like a pet dog.'

'I can't help it,' growled Napoleon, on the defensive in a second. Then he shook his head. 'Look Illya, I know you value your privacy and I'm sorry I've been in the way, but...'

'It's not that, Napoleon. I don't mind you being around. You're about the only person I can tolerate for such extended periods, if that helps. But yes, five minutes without you breathing down my neck, either literally or physically, would be valuable.'

'I'll never make it down there on my own. I don't want to be alone when they do it. Please Illya, knock me out again.'

'That's a poor idea.' Illya went back to his desk to shuffle some papers into a pile.

'No it isn't. That new knockout pellet you shot me with hasn't even left me feeling drowsy.'

'It only lasts fifteen minutes, Napoleon. What do you want me to do, give one of the secretaries a gun and get them to top you up every quarter of an hour?'

'Knock me out more traditionally then.'

'Napoleon, I am not going to punch the living daylights out of you in our office. Not when I'm in a good mood, at any rate.'

'Greater love hath no man, Illya...' Napoleon paused, '...I'd do it for you.'

'Of that I have no doubt. There are better ways though. Come on. I need to go past Medical to get to Detention, and I can't waste any more time or Waverly will have my head.'

They headed down to Medical, and Illya spoke quietly to one of the lab boys working on medical projects in a side room. Then he delivered up a distinctly fidgety Napoleon to the man, and watched as Napoleon took a hit of one of the new, mild anaesthetics and slumped woozily in his chair, unseeing, unhearing, if not completely out of it.

'I'll be back for him later,' Illya assured the scientist as he left.

* * *

When it came down to it, the conditioning THRUSH had placed on Napoleon was fairly simple. It was focused entirely on Illya, and with the subject of his fixation available to see and hear, it took only a few hours for the psychoanalysis team to figure out the root of the problem and fix it.

Illya stood out of sight behind a screen as they woke Napoleon up for the final time.

'How do you feel, Mr Solo,' the doctor asked.

'Calm,' replied Napoleon. 'I feel normal again, at least.'

'Good. Excellent. Well, that seems to have done the trick. However, I do not want you going home alone tonight, just in case there are any side effects. Do you have someone who can stay with you, or you with them?' Napoleon shrugged uncertainly.

Illya stepped out from behind the screen. 'I'll stay with you. Idiot.'

'Good!' said the doctor, 'Then you are free to go. I suggest a restful evening, no excitement. Your brain has taken rather a battering the last few weeks.'

They left the room and Napoleon turned to Illya.

'I would have thought you were sick of me.'

'I will be if you don't shut up.'

'Really, Illya, I'm sure I could find someone else to keep an eye on me if you'd rather...'

'Napoleon, there is a difference between being forced into your company, and volunteering for it. I choose to volunteer. Unfortunately, and this is something you do not seem to have realised, since you needed to be tricked into it, there are side-effects to being partnered with someone for whom you actually have a great deal of regard. I could put it in these terms – if you are injured or otherwise indisposed, I do not function well if I am am not with you. I cannot stand here and watch you leave.' He turned down the twisted lapel of Napoleon's jacket, then walked away, trusting Napoleon to follow, and calling over his shoulder,

'At times like this I have a strange aversion to Going Solo.'


End file.
